The Steampunk Detective by Darrell Pitt

hedge. Reaching the rear of the vehicle, he kept close to the ground. He could see the feet of two men on the other side. The driver and a guard. The back of the truck lay open. He glanced inside. Nowhere to hide in there. Looking underneath he saw a big, self contained wedge running all the way under the vehicle.
    He had never seen anything like it before, but there was obviously nowhere to hide under it.
    On top , he thought. On top or nowhere at all.
    He climbed onto the open back of the vehicle as quietly as possible, reached up and gripped the top edge. Slowly, he eased himself up, sliding himself onto the roof. One sound and they would be onto him. They might even shoot him.
    He slid along the roof, barely breathing. He could hear the group from the airship heading in his direction. They were speaking that foreign lingo – what was it – German. A muffled cry came from the group followed by the sound of a blow. Either Scarlet or Mr Harker must have protested and received a thump for it.
    They drew closer and he felt the vehicle shift and shudder as people climbed in. The driver and his companion climbed into the front while others slid into the rear. There was more talking between the driver and others who were to be left behind.
    Jack wished he knew how to speak German. Then he would know what they were jabbering about.
    Finally the engine started.
    The sun beat down on Jack as he gripped thin grooves in the metal work running along the roof. Designed to drain rain water to the rear of the vehicle, his fingers gained a sturdy purchase as the steam engine roared into motion. The vehicle started down the track, bouncing roughly along the dirt road.
    The journey was much tougher than Jack had expected. He felt like an egg being tossed about in a saucepan of boiling water. His face kept on jolting against the hard metal. 
    It felt so uncomfortable, for the first time he felt like letting go and sliding off the rear of the van. Anything would be better than this constant battering. Then he thought of Scarlet and Mr Harker. He was their only hope. Without him they might both die.
    Up till now he had remained spread-eagled across the top of the roof. Now he allowed his arms to slide in together and he braced them under his body, laying his head on his hands. As the truck raced down the road he felt more pressure on his arms, but at least his face had more support.
    That’s better , he thought. But not much.
    Occasionally he looked up. At least the vehicle seemed to be avoiding towns and populated areas. It stuck to country roads. As best as Jack could tell, they were headed west.
    The afternoon wore on. The strain on his arms grew worse and worse. He had barely recovered from his afternoon on the outside of the balloon. The pain in his shoulders grew unbearable as he gripped the grooves in the roof.
    As the sun dropped further towards the horizon, Jack felt exhaustion setting in. He had no idea as to his location. His whole body ached with pain, starting from his fingers and working all the way back to his shoulders and back.
    He couldn’t take it much longer.
    Sweat dripped into his eyes as he remembered his father.
    “…must practice your movement again. There is no room for error…”
    Jack hung on tighter.
    “…people in the crowd are paying for a spectacle…not for failure…”
    Tears ran down Jack’s face. He could not hold on much longer. He took long breaths in and out. When would the vehicle end its journey? And when it did, how would he contact Mr Doyle?
    The steam truck slowed. Jack allowed himself to look up. To his immense surprise he could see the ocean. The sun straddled a bank of clouds on the horizon. The vehicle was either stopping at a house on the coast, or it was meeting a boat.
    Now the truck dipped suddenly and Jack felt himself almost slide forward over the front of the vehicle. He fanned himself out again and tried to hang onto the grooves along the side – but his fingers would not